TO
EVERY SOUTHERN WOMAN, WHO HAS BEEN Widowed by the War, I DEDICATE THIS RHYME, PUBLISHED DURING THE PROGRESS OF THE STRUGGLE AND NOW RE-PRODUCED—AS A Faint Memorial of Sufferings, OF WHICH THERE CAN BE NO FORGETFULNESS.
M.J.P.
BEECHENBROOK;
A
RHYME OF THE WAR.
[I.]
[II.]
[III.]
[IV.]
[V.]
[VI.]
[VII.]
[VIII.]
[IX.]
[X.]
[VIRGINIA.]
[JACKSON.]
[DIRGE FOR ASHBY.]
[STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE.[A]]
[WHEN THE WAR IS OVER.]
[VIRGINIA CAPTA.]
I.
There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day
Has been bright with the earliest glory of May;
The blue of the sky is as tender a blue
As ever the sunshine came shimmering through:
The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees,
As they merrily dart in and out of the trees,—
The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows,
It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose,—
The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen,—
The laughter of children at play on the green,—
Insist on a picture so cheerful, so fair,
Who ever would dream that a grief could be there!